God's Unwanted Children
by MotorcycleChickenSmile
Summary: Oneshot. Jack and Marla take a trip back to First Methodist and get more of a trip down memory lane than they bargained for. Story is probably better than the summary. Rated T for strong language and general Marla-ness.


A/N; Ok, so I know I _should _be working on my Sweeney Todd fic, but I've been super busy lately and I wanted something that I could finish quick and churn out sporadically. Plus I just needed to get away from _Our Life _for a little while and I still had the urge to do one more Fight Club oneshot. Hopefully now I'll be able to focus a little more on finishing _Our Life…_once my schedule cools down, that is. Hopefully sometime before Thanksgiving.

Disclaimer; I don't own Fight Club. I don't own anything to do with Fight Club. I'm not getting paid to write fan fiction about Fight Club. Huh. My life is kind of sad. 0_0

_God's Unwanted Children_

There's a new sign posted up on the bulletin board. I glance at it out of the corner of my eye as we pass. It's printed on a pink sheet of paper.

_Coping with No One; A Cure For the Common Cult. _It meets Thursdays and Sundays at six in the choir room.

I smile broadly, almost having to suppress the urge to laugh. Ironic, isn't it? I wonder where that group was a year ago, when we actually could have used it.

You just know that somewhere deep down in the bowels of the building, in some cramped little fluorescent-lit office basement, some middle-aged housewife volunteer spent all night thinking up that clever name and Xeroxing it onto dozens of pink flyers.

Good old First Methodist. Warm, stuffy, smells perpetually of dirty boiler-room.

In a way, some small part of me feels like this is home.

We weave our way through narrow, inadequately lit hallways, dodging geriatric after geriatric, until we come to the dim lobby outside the sanctuary. We fall into a line of people waiting to get in, having their hands shook by the pastor as they pass through the doors. Panes of glass separate us from the actual church; inside I can see rows of pews, already sparsely populated by a few early arrivals. Candles glow at the altar in solemn, gently smoldering dignity.

A familiar _snick-snick _sound makes my ears perk up. I glance to my right. My eyes narrow.

"What are you doing??" I hiss incredulously.

Marla Singer turns her head toward me, her eyes and her expression hidden behind her enormous black sunglasses. The cigarette hangs limply in her lips, her hand curled around the lighter. She continues to strike it with her thumb even as she looks at me---_snick, snick, snick, snick. _She must be low on fluid.

"What?" she mutters innocently around the cigarette.

I reach up and snatch it out of her mouth with two fingers. "You can't smoke in here," I whisper, thinking that this should be more than obvious to your average person.

"Fuck me, I can't." She snatches it back. I guess Marla's not what you'd call your average person.

I wrap my hand around her forearm, stopping her from sticking it back in her mouth.

"I'm serious, Marla, they're gonna make us leave."

"Do you see a no-smoking sign anywhere? Do you?"

I open my mouth, hesitate. Marla's using her outdoor voice, and people are starting to give us funny looks, the kind you can only get from people in a church lobby---that unique combination of _the poor things, I hope they like it here _and _who do these dumb little shits think they're kidding? _I swallow, trying to ignore the stares of senior citizens and woman of all social strata. Marla certainly doesn't look like your typical churchgoing girl. She's wearing her big, wide-brimmed black hat, for one, tilted so far to the side I'm amazed it can stay on her apple-shaped head. She's also wearing fishnets, pumps, and her favorite ratty sweater, not to mention those huge glasses that hide her face from the world like a ski-mask hides a burglar.

"They don't have any signs because it's _implied," _I hiss, leaning towards her. "It's…just common courtesy."

"Yeah, yeah…you know, common courtesy is like the common cold. Everybody dishes it out even though none of us really want it."

"No smoking," I repeat through clenched teeth, glancing over Marla's shoulder. I swear that old lady just crossed herself looking in our direction.

The line inches slowly forward like we're waiting to get on a rollercoaster. The pastor is taking his sweet time greeting everyone individually. I keep getting this feeling like I forgot something, but maybe I'm just nervous. This is the first time since the whole incident that I've been back at First Methodist, and I'm still kind of getting used to the fact that people ( these people, at least ) won't associate me with Tyler. Marla hikes her purse higher up on her shoulder, the leather creaking noisily, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Remind me again why the hell we're here," she sighs, not even trying to keep her voice down. I lift a hand and cover the side of my face, hoping nobody recognizes me. It's been over a year now, but every few seconds I keep thinking I spy a familiar face from _Free and Clear _or _My Tuberculosis. _I think my biggest fear is that two people from different groups will come up to me at the same time, and one of them will call me Cornelius and one will call me Rupert, and then they'll both just stare at each other for a few seconds. God, shoot me in the face!

_Or….maybe not, _I hastily correct myself, my tongue inadvertently wandering over to the scarred spot at the back of my cheek. Even after all this time, I don't think that bullet-hole has healed completely, and either way I'll have that weird, purple, quarter-sized mottled spot for the rest of my life.

"I told you," I say quietly, trying not to look at the people around us to see if they're listening. "We're trying not to draw any attention."

"Wouldn't _staying home _have been the best way to do that?" Marla snaps irritably. I sigh. I've already explained it to her. She's just being bitchy on purpose.

"I came to this church for over a year. I can't just suddenly move back to my hometown and stop showing up at it."

Marla looks at me, her mouth open in a disbelieving, _you're the dumbest fuck I know _expression.

"Jack. Are you even shitting me right now. You honestly think that anyone in this fucking city is going to notice if you _stop going to church? _Please. These people are so wrapped up in their own little lives, they wouldn't notice if you dropped dead a foot in front of them._" _

Heads turn all around us. I kind of smile at them, hoping I'm not starting to sweat, but knowing full well that I am.

"Just get through the service Marla, that's all I ask. It's the evening service, for Christ's sake, it'll even be shorter than normal."

"Yeah, I'll try to remember that when I'm picturing myself in purgatory," she mutters back at me. She suddenly reaches over and pinches me in the ass. I jump.

"What was that?" I demand under my breath, pinning her with an annoyed glance.

"What was what?"

I groan softly. "Forget it. Just be good for once, alright?"

"Oh, and you're one to talk about being _good, _Mr. Glycerin_."_

It takes for freaking ever, but we finally get through the doors. I just about have a coronary when the pastor reaches out to shake Marla's hand and she just looks at him, smiles, and says sweetly, "I wouldn't want to give you my syphilis." I can't grab her arm and drag her away fast enough.

We sit in the very last row, with a pew all to ourselves. Either it's my imagination, or the rest of the congregation is forming a broad, empty circle around us, like a quarantine zone. I slouch down in the pew and try not to notice.

"Aren't we supposed to get coffee at this thing?" Marla complains as the organ music starts up.

"It's not a goddamn support group, Marla," I answer, smothering a small laugh. "God, haven't you ever been to church just for the sake of _church?"_

"I don't know. Have you ever been an ass just for the sake of being an ass?"

"You can cut the sarcasm anytime."

"Ok. Fuck you. There. That wasn't sarcastic at all."

"Ok, look," I say angrily, sitting up straight and looking her right in the eye. Well, right in the sunglasses. "If you're gonna be this pissy about it, just leave. I don't care. I'll come straight home when the service is over."

Marla laughed, shortly, looking at me through the opaque lenses. "Yeah, and leave you here to get molested by someone in the bathroom? Don't think so."

I lift a hand to my eyes. "Jesus Christ, Marla, can you say _one appropriate thing_ tonight?"

"Sure. On your knees."

"What?"

"Everybody's kneeling, stupid."

I look up. She's right. Everybody's letting down the clunky pew-kneelers and getting down on them. I unfold ours and get on my knees, my hands folding automatically. Marla barely conceals a snort.

"You look like a freaking altar boy, Jack! It's kind of hot, actually."

"Shut up and kneel, Marla."

She does, eventually. The pastor reads the opening prayer requests and then sings the first part of the creed. The organist, a creaking old woman with brown pantyhose and shoes three sizes too big, plays up a few bars and the congregation answers in song. Marla leans toward me, her mouth in my ear.

"Do you think they take requests? I wonder if she knows _Where Is My Mind."_

The service goes downhill from there.

I knew Marla had trouble keeping her mouth shut, but I guess I never realized exactly how bad it was until I tried taking her to church. Every five fucking minutes she's either whispering something to me or muttering something under her breath.

"Look at this guy up the third pew, you can tell he does blow."

"Have you ever wondered what it's like jumping through a stained-glass window instead of a regular one? I bet the body splatters are spectacular. All full of colorful shards."

"Why can't I smoke in here? There's nobody around us for thirty feet."

"Can we run to the drugstore after this? I'm out of tampax."

"Why the fuck did you wear a tie? Isn't Saturday supposed to be casual or something?"

"Do you think if I asked, somebody here could tell me what Satan's phone number is?"

"I bet you five bucks I could score a jug of communion wine if I flash the pastor some thigh."

Finally I can't stand anymore.

"Damn it Marla, let's just leave," I groan. "Since you can't keep your fu---"

"Shut up, they're collecting," she interrupts me. I look up. The ushers are going around with the collecting plates. _Shit. _I knew I forgot something.

"You got any cash Marla?"

"No, who do I look like? Someone who's not impoverished?"

"You're not impoverished, I gave some money yesterday."

"It's called nicotine, Jack. Some of us are pretty attached to it."

"You spent _thirty dollars _on cigarettes??"

"I'm sorry, ok? I didn't know what I was _supposed _to spend it on. Think of it this way, you won't have to give me any more for at least a week."

I curse under my breath. The plates are getting closer. I pull out my wallet and flip through it. All I have is two fifties.

_Shit. Somebody damn well better appreciate this._

"What the fuck are you doing??" Marla asks, reaching up and tearing off her sunglasses. I drop the fifty-dollar bill onto the plate and it whisks away from us as quickly as it came. Marla turns and stares at me, her eyes boring into me, piercing with disbelief. I shrug.

"It's all I had."

"_You gave them fifty fucking dollars? _Are you _insane?"_

"It's all I had!" I repeat.

Marla shakes her head. All of a sudden she grabs her purse and shoots to her feet.

"I'm leaving. This is ridiculous."

She storms down the pew and out the doors at the back of the sanctuary. I look up. Several heads turn back to look at us, pretending they aren't as interested as they clearly are. I get up and hastily follow her.

"Marla, wait…."

"Fuck this shit, I'm going home."

"Just hold on a second---"

We make it all the way to some deep, deserted hallway of the church before I finally catch up to her and grab her shoulder, turning her around. She glares at me.

"I know why you brought me here," she accuses suddenly.

I stop, honestly taken aback. Her face changed in the split second that she had her back to me. Instead of looking pissed, her lips are practically trembling and her eyes are wide and dejected. Her voice is suddenly quiet. I blink.

"Wh-what are you talking about?"

"I said I _know why you brought me here, _you fucking asshole," she repeats, her voice quivering even more. She starts rummaging in her purse, digs out a cigarette, and brings it to her lips, fumbling with the lighter. I gently reach up and put my hand over hers, stopping the motion.

"Marla," I say, trying to calm her down. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't want to come here because you're worried about _blowing your cover, _Jack," she mutters around the cigarette, wrenching her hand free of mine and at last getting the thing lit. She sucks in the smoke like she's never needed anything more badly. Her eyes are shining as she turns and blows it out through her nose.

"Yes I di---"

"No. You brought me here because you're ashamed of me."

I stop. My stomach feels suddenly strange, like my intestinal walls have turned to wood or something. I look into her face and I'm shocked by how much it hurts.

"That's not true," I whisper.

"Don't lie to me, fuckbag," Marla suddenly explodes, an actual tear tracing down her cheek as she yells. "You're ashamed of your poor, slutty old girlfriend, and you think you can make up for me being such a _condemned whore _by dragging me to church. Polish me up a little bit, wash the crud off with a little _holy water_. You think you can make people see me as something I'm not."

I stare at her. My mouth opens, my guts scream at me to say something, but all I can do is stammer.

"Marla, that's….that's not…."

"Yeah, save it," she sniffs, inhaling again on the cigarette. "I'm going home." She turns and begins to storm away, wobbling slightly on her ridiculously skinny heels.

_No, hell no. We're not walking out like this. Not with her thinking that._

"For crying out----Marla, would you just _listen to me for five seconds?" _I run after her and grab her by the arm. What happens next, I honestly don't see coming. Marla turns around and punches me in the face. Her knuckles hit the right side of my jaw and crack it to the side, pain shooting up the mandible and making my eyes water. It's her ring hand, no less. I grab my mouth in my hand, squeezing my eyes shut. It hurts. A lot.

Too much. More than it should. The pain doesn't dissipate, even after several seconds pass.

This doesn't make sense. She didn't even hit me that hard.

_Why the fuck does it hurt so bad?_

Marla's breathing hard, more tears coming down her face. She moves her lips like she's talking, but no sound comes out, because suddenly all I can hear is my own heartbeat, thudding in my ears. And beneath it, something else….

_I told you that bitch was trouble._

Then I can't hear my heartbeat, because my heart has stopped. My eyes pop open. I forget the pain. My stomach changes from wood into water. The voice starts laughing….that high-pitched, deranged, shrieking laugh that makes your teeth shudder.

_You actually __**came back **__to fucking First Methodist! I was __**born **__here, man, this is my fucking home turf! I mean, I knew you were a stupid son of a bitch, but __**damn, **__Jack, you're makin' this too easy!_

Oh God. Oh fucking God, this can't be happening. This cannot be happening. Are you even shitting me right now?

I look up. I'm standing on the other side of the church lobby. How the fuck did I get over here? I was twenty feet that way a split second ago.

Somebody is standing in front of Marla, and she's bitching him out like no other, the tears streaming down her face and making her makeup run, but he's ignoring her completely, which of course only makes her rant harder. She pushes him in the shoulder, getting up in his face.

"Are you listening to me?? Jack? I said are you _fucking listening to me? _What the _fuck _are you looking at??"

He's looking at me. But he's not Jack. I'm Jack.

That means….

Tyler smiles that even smile of his, that expression that's calm and giddy at the same time. He doesn't even glance at Marla as she continues to berate him. His eyes are fixed on me, digging into me like drill bits, rooting me to the spot. I just stand there. I can't feel any part of my body. If I pissed myself right now I wouldn't even notice. I muster up just enough of a brain signal to slowly shake my head back and forth.

"No," I say, my voice so hollow and far away I can barely hear it. It's like everything is happening in slow motion. "No, no, no….."

"What was that, precious?" Tyler leans toward me, his hand to his ear. "No, no, no…._yes, yes, yes."_

"What the FUCK, Jack? Who are you talking to?" Marla is screaming, but even I barely hear her at this point. It can't be too much longer before she makes the connection. Even after a year, I know she hasn't forgotten, any more than I have….

Tyler laughs again, the hysterical hyena laugh. "I can't believe you actually got _into _something with this crazy bitch, Jack. You're even more fucked in the head than I thought, and I _knew _you were fucked up!"

"This isn't happening," I mutter under my breath, taking a few shaky steps forward. I squeeze my eyes shut. "This isn't real. You're not real. I'm not over here, I'm in front of Marla." I picture myself standing where Tyler is, picture myself doing what Tyler's doing.

_He's not there. He's not there. He's not there._

_Ooooohh, yes I am, princess._

_No. NO. Marla's not pushing him, she's pushing __**me. **__Tyler isn't there. __**Tyler does not exist.**_

"Oh no?" he says aloud. I open my eyes. Nothing's changed. I'm still standing there looking at him and Marla from across the room. I move towards them again, more deliberately this time. By now poor Marla is practically having a conniption.

"That's it, Jack, I'm done with you. Come home when you can stop being such a psycho." She turns to walk away. Tyler suddenly catches my eye and grins broadly.

"Could someone who wasn't here do _this?"_

Tyler jumps forward and grabs Marla. _That's _what I need. My eyes shoot open and feeling surges back into my numb body.

"NO!" I scream, dashing at him.

"Hold it Ikea Boy!" Tyler crows, whirling around. He's got his arm around Marla's neck, the other hand on the top of her head. Her hat is spinning on the floor. Her eyes go wide, her hands clutching feebly at Tyler's muscular arm. Her face is terrified and ball-numbingly pissed at the same time.

"Jack!" she shrieks, only to cough and sputter as Tyler tightens his arm around her windpipe. "What the…fuck is wrong with you???" she gasps.

"Let her go!" I scream, my fists clenching and my heart threatening to burst through my chest.

"Why? So the two of you can take off and go skipping around the country for another year? So I'll have to spend _another year _pacing back and forth in that boring little wannabe Alcatraz cell you call a _brain? _I don't think so."

"She's got nothing to do with this! Just _let her go!" _

"Wrong again, sweetheart!" Tyler cackles, Marla squirming futilely in his grasp. "She's got _everything _to do with this! Don't you get it, Jack? She's the one who broke us up in the first place! If it hadn't been for her, we could have gone _all the way, man. _We could have become _invincible."_

His leather-covered arm tightens further. Marla cries out sharply. It's all I can do to keep from charging.

"God damn it, Tyler, _let her go!!"_

"Ah ah ah, careful! This is the _Lord's _house, Jack, I don't think you want to be taking no names in vain here."

I force myself to close my eyes again, gritting my teeth against Marla's frantic gasps.

_I can do this. I can do this. I can beat him. It's just will power. Come __**on, **__Jack, __**think….**_

"That's it. Just stand there nice and quiet and go slide with your penguin. While you're there, I'll get rid of the little distraction."

Leather squeaking. Marla trying to scream, her voice barely a choked whisper.

"T-T-Tyler…." she gasps.

_No! NO! FUCK! NO! THINK, JACK!_

Tyler laughing hysterically, shrieking like a hyena….

_Think……_

Desperate, desperate….my heart beats faster with every little noise Marla makes…I can't think, can't focus, can't force Tyler out of my head….

_They're not his arms, they're mine! They're __**mine, **__God damn it, __**I'm **__the one who's choking her, and __**I **__can stop if __**I **__want to!!_

But it doesn't work. I feel no warm metal of the gun in my hand, and no firm curve of Marla's spinal chord against my chest. Tyler is having a fucking field day.

"Mutter all you want, buddy…._this _time, the bitch is going down."

I begin to tremble. I can't get his voice out of my head, can't drown out Marla's cries. I feel myself starting to break down.

_It's not working, nothing is working…_

My face is trembling. I feel the tears actually starting to work up in my eyes.

Marla screams.

My eyes squeeze shut so tight it's like the lids are going to fold in on themselves. All of a sudden I'm reaching, reaching frantically forward into the darkness of my brain.

_Please…._

_Please, God…._

…_.__**help us.**_

"_OOOOOOOOFFF!!!!"_

It happens practically the instant the words formed themselves in my mind. All the wind is instantly sucked out of my body, like someone put a vacuum hose to my lips, and pain like I've never imagined goes shooting up from between my legs. Marla's body goes rigid, her arm taut and her fist still clenched from nailing me in the balls. My arms slip away from her neck and I crumble to the floor. She backs away, looking down at me and sucking in huge gasps of air and hacking her lungs out after each one, her hands clutched around her throat.

For what feels like an eternity, I just lay there curled on the floor, hands over my crotch, wincing in pain too intense for noise, too indescribable for words. It's like I'm turning inside out. When I can finally stop rollicking in it, I open my eyes a crack.

Marla is kneeling over me, her face wrought in fear and confusion. I squint. There's a light shining behind her; the white, fluorescent glow from the ceiling light above her. It encircles her head and shines like a halo. As my eyes come into focus, I notice something hanging on the wall; a portrait of Jesus, one of those old white, blue-eyed Jesus ones from the 50s that every non-Catholic church has hanging up _somewhere. _From my angle, it looks like Jesus has his eyes fixed on the side of Marla's head.

I blink. You've got to be kidding. It's like something from a movie.

But it's not. It's real.

"Jack?" Marla says, her voice trembling. She puts her hand on my face. "Jack? Are you ok?"

I slowly sit up, still feeling a little woozy. Marla lets out a long exhale.

"Holy shit, Jack….holy shit…."

"Marla," I croak, surprised that I don't sound like a Vienna boy's tenor. "Marla…"

"Was that….was that what I think it was?"

I take Marla's hand in mine, and she in turn grabs me in her arms and hugs me like she never hugs me, except during sex. She wraps her arms around my neck and rocks me a little, her fingers digging in my hair.

"Tell me that's not what I think it was."

I close my eyes.

Marla swallows, thickly, and she might be crying, but I can't tell.

"It was Tyler," she whispers.

"Yeah. It was Tyler."

"He's back?"

"I don't know."

"Jack…what are we going to do? What the fuck are we going to---"

"It's ok, Marla."

"What do you mean _it's ok??_ It is not fucking _ok!!!"_

"No, you don't get it Marla. I think…I think you stopped him."

"By smashing you in the balls!! I can't do that every time he shows up!"

I squeeze my eyes shut harder.

I look inside.

Deep.

Deep inside.

I open my eyes.

I think he's gone.

I'm pretty sure he's gone.

_I__'ve been pretty sure before, though…._

"We're gonna be ok, Marla. I promise."

She sniffs. Yeah, she's definitely crying.

"How? How do you know?"

"I think…I don't know, but I think…maybe…we might have some help this time."

Marla sniffs again and leans back just enough to look me in the face.

"What do you mean?"

I gingerly lift my arm and put it around her, pulling her close to me ( wincing a little….certain things haven't quite fully descended again yet…).

"I think Tyler was wrong."

"What? About what?"

"Maybe God doesn't hate us after all."

A/N; Alright, that was kind of cheesy. Ok, it was very cheesy. I admit it. But it was something I just had to do. And in case anyone's confused, this takes place as if Marla and Jack have been dating for a year after the end of the movie, and by now she knows all about his whole split personality thing, and they moved around the country for a while to avoid getting caught for the whole Fight Club majigger. Slightly preposterous, I know, but whatchya gonna do. Anyway, feel free to tell me what you think, even if you hated it. Reviews make me smile.


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